The Simple Gift (13 page)

Early, or late

I woke early,

went to Old Bill's carriage

with coffee and breakfast

and he was already awake,

he was shaving!

We sat in the sunshine

and I told him

about the cops

and asked what I should do?

I knew welfare would ask

about where I lived

and how I lived

and I had to keep them

as far away from here

as I could

and it seemed that

moving out west

was the only answer.

But how could I leave

the only town

I've ever wanted to call home,

and Caitlin …

Home

When young Billy

told me about the cops

I knew I had to do something.

I told him not to worry,

that somehow

we'd come up with an idea.

I left Billy to his coffee

and his fears of leaving town.

I wanted a long walk to think.

I avoided the park –

today I didn't need conversation,

I needed time.

I walked the suburbs

looking at the neat lawns,

the pebbled driveways,

the flowers and hedges,

and the paint jobs of

a thousand everyday dreams.

And I thought of Billy

leaning against the carriage

reading a book

waiting,

as I kept walking

the familiar streets

of Bendarat.

So obvious

I walk for hours

to end up here

in Wellington Road

opposite

my house,

Jessie's house.

I sit on a bus seat

looking across,

picturing Jessie

at the window

in the backyard

on the veranda.

I could use a drink

to help me decide

but

I know Billy has only got

until this afternoon

and I know

that what I must do is

so obvious

and simple

and so unbearably painful

my whole body shakes

with the thought.

To help people

Sitting here

I thought of Jessie

and the injured bird.

Jessie was eight years old,

she found a parrot

unable to move.

We placed it in a shoebox

wrapped in a handtowel

to keep warm,

hoping the shock would subside.

Jessie stroked its head,

she prayed,

she fed it sugar syrup

with an eye dropper

and we stayed up late,

waiting.

It took two days

of Jessie praying

and stroking

and feeding,

and the bird got stronger.

Jessie and I stood on the veranda,

Jessie holding the bird gently.

She opened her hands

and it sat on her palms

looking at her

then it turned and flew

high into the wattle

where it perched.

Jessie waved

and the bird flew away.

I thought of Jessie

helping that bird

and how, after it left,

Jessie turned to me

and said that

when she grew up

she wanted to be a vet,

she wanted to heal animals

and to help people.

Peace

I unlatch the gate to my house

and walk around the backyard,

the wattle is in bloom,

and a pair of swallows

have made a nest

of clay and straw

under the veranda ceiling.

It's so quiet,

the grass is knee-high

and I think of the lawnmower

in the shed.

I'm sure I can find some two-stroke

and with a bit of coaxing

get the thing started,

but for now

I sit on the veranda

and admire the peace

that I'd never noticed here,

with the morning sun

filtering through the trees,

and I understand

why it's so quiet,

so unworldly.

The swallows swoop along

the grass and weeds

and arc into the nest

above my head.

I hear the chirp of

young birds after a feed

and I stand, walk to the shed,

unlock the door,

push the cobwebs away,

and I roll out the old mower

and go rummaging

for some two-stroke,

ready to work.

The neighbours

The house next door

has new owners

and when they saw me

mowing

they ca
me to the fence

to ask questions,

so many ques
tions.

I told them

I owned this house

but
lived elsewhere

and I'd just rented i
t out

to a young lad,

a friend of the family,

and he was moving in soon

and he
'd keep this grass mown

and look after the place

for me,

an old man

with a house

too big for him.

That seemed to pleas
e them,

they stopped asking questions

and talked about

th
e weather instead.

I went back to mowing.

I wasn't any good with neighbours

and I wondered if

I e
ver will be.

War

Today in History

in Room 652

I looked out the window

and saw Billy

sitting across the road

with his head in his hands.

I wanted to rush out

cross the road

and hug him

right there in the park

opposite my school

and we could walk

to his carriage

and make love

while Petra and Kate

and the rest of this class

learn about the Vietnam War.

Billy and I could make love

not war

and Billy looked so sad.

I wanted so much

to flee History

and the murderous armies

and Mr Hawkins

handing out

homework sheets

that gave me more work

to keep me away from

Billy and freedom

and I felt like

a prisoner of war

here in Room 652

while Billy

sat in the park

with his head in his hands.

Not moving

All morning

I sat outside Bendarat Grammar

hoping to see Caitlin,

wishing she'd walk through

those big iron gates

and we could run away

from Bendarat

and cops

and nosy welfare officers

who call you by your first name

after every sentence,

‘So where are you living, Billy?'

‘Do you have enough food, Billy?'

‘Do you want to go back to school, Billy?'

‘I'm only here to help, Billy.'

All morning

I sat in the dull sunshine

waiting for something to happen.

I thought about Old Bill

and what he said.

I guessed he was going to

give me the last of his money

from the cannery work,

and a map of Australia,

and tell me which train

to jump on to get out of town

before four this afternoon

like I'm some dangerous cowboy

being run out of town by the sheriff.

All morning

I thought of Caitlin

and I thought of leaving

and

all morning

I sat opposite the school

not moving,

not moving a muscle.